


two hearts and a greenhouse

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Gay, M/M, Slight Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9082204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: a love story told through photographs and flowers.





	

**1\. a bouquet of lavenders in a vase.**

Viktor arrives at his locker to find the picture pasted on the space just above the lock, pulling it off and taking a closer look. It’s a bouquet of lavenders, placed in a clear vase against a plain white background. Sunlight makes them cast shadows that further enhance the beauty of it all.

He turns the developed picture around, checking to see if there’s a note. It’s scribbled in rushed, ungraceful handwriting, seeming as if a hurricane whispered right when the writer was penning the words. Viktor doesn’t mind, though—he himself has scrawny penmanship that’s too thin and sharp in all the wrong places.

‘ _Lavender means admiration, according to this one site I’ve read. I admire you, Viktor. There’s not a single day you fail to amaze me. You might know me, you might not. That isn’t the matter right now, though. Take this as some sort of confession letter, or something. I’ll someday bring you an actual bouquet and not just a picture. Keep your head up._ ’

There’s a grin making its way to his chapped lips, a blush creeping onto his cheeks as he shoves the picture in his bag, careful as not to crumple it. He zips it close and hangs its straps on his shoulders, shutting his locker with a clank.

Walking home, he couldn’t usher the thoughts of the writer—or their anonymity—out of his mind, painting the walls of his brain golden yellow. It bugs him not to know their identity, even just a small portion of it. Nevertheless, he appreciates the effort.

Viktor likes flowers. That’s, to say the least—he has a garden in the backyard of their abode, thriving with flora of every imaginable color in the spectrum. It’s his sanctuary, perhaps the gas station of his racecar of a soul, and not a day passes by without him religiously watering his plants.

 

**2\. a moss rosebud in a sea of green.**

Two, maybe three weeks later, Viktor comes back to find a picture taped onto his locker yet again, though it’s in a different position. Unknowingly, a smile flutters to his lips as he pulls it away, cautious and slow.

He couldn’t identify it at first, him scratching the nape of his neck in embarrassment when he’s certain he’s unable to put a name on it. Turning it around, he finds yet another concise letter written using blue ink.      

‘ _Moss Rosebud is the flower of confession. That’s what it means in the Victorian langue of flowers, at least. I’m ready to confess, Viktor. I know it’s been such a short time but the formula of the intensity of feelings doesn’t include duration or period of time in its variables. Please meet me in the corridor including the science laboratories tomorrow lunch. If you don’t come, I’ll take it as a sign of rejection._ ’

Viktor walks home from school, a heated debate ongoing in his head, even after he’s showered and settled down in bed. The decision between going and being a no show is proving to be one of the most difficult in his career as a high school student. The latter sounds so much appealing, though he really isn’t up to breaking some random person’s heart, either.

Keeping that thought in mind, he walks to school the next day with heavy footsteps, a boiling heart, and bags under his eyes. His classes pass by blurrily, his mind still groggy as he struggles to stay awake in the mentally draining discussion his AP English professor is giving.

When lunch arrives, the thought of not going at all suddenly, swiftly crosses his mind. He bats it away, though, because he knows the pain of being stood up, and as much as possible, Viktor doesn’t want to inflict any more pain on people, much less hopeful strangers.

He finds himself walking to the said place, a scowl on his face which he quickly fixes when he’s about to turn the last corner. Combing his fingers through his hair, he steps rightward, only to come face to face with a boy.

There’s nothing wrong about it—really, but he didn’t expect to have a boy confess to him. There’s a fleeting moment of pride in Viktor’s veins, his mind applauding the other male because of his bravery. Viktor, no matter how hard he tries, can’t recognize him, though. His face is awfully familiar, having seen it before in the vast ocean of pixelated people, but he just couldn’t put a name on him.

“Hey,” Hesitantly, Viktor calls out, a charming smile on his lips as he does so. The boy, slick black hair and half-rimmed blue glasses, looks up at him with an awkward grin of his own, waving at him with a shaky hand. Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle, though it may have come across a different way for the boy, whose cheeks are now flushed with a flattering shade of red.

“I’m Yuuri,” The boy mutters, voice meek and bashful, his hands now behind him as he fiddles with his fingers. He runs a hand through his hair, regaining whatever composure he had, and bows to him, Viktor mirroring it almost immediately. “I don’t know how confessions work, really—you’re the first, a-and, I like you?”

“Why is it a question?” Viktor laughs, trying to shed some light into their situation. He goes to wrap a hand around the other’s shoulders, flashing him the brightest, warmest smile he can muster at a time like this. “Listen, Yuuri, you’re pretty much a stranger to me, but I’ll give you a chance,” He says, maintaining his smile while ruffling his hair.

“I’m giving us a chance.”

 

**3\. a bunch of white violets positioned intimately close.**

Viktor finds a picture of White Violets inside his bag when he’s at home, rummaging through his backpack to find a wandering pencil. It’s slightly ruined and bent at the seams, but Viktor doesn’t mind.

‘ _White Violets – let’s take a chance at happiness. Viktor Nikiforov, please be my boyfriend. Let’s test the waters, check if we’ll survive through winter for the most beautiful spring we’ll ever see in our lifetime as newly-bloomed flowers.’_

Tears spring up to his eyelids but Viktor refuses to let them fall, especially not on the picture paper the image was printed on. He puts it on his bedside table, fetching his phone to send Yuuri a short, concise message.

_Let’s take a chance at happiness._

 

**4\. five jonquils against a blurred background of greens and whites.**

It’s a few years later and Viktor is coming back from an afternoon class to his dorm with a cup of coffee ensconced in his palm. It has become a routine for him, really, to grab one from the nearby shop after his last afternoon class to boost himself up for a night of cramming.

The picture almost, almost goes unnoticed but as Viktor struggles to shove the key into the shaped hole, he notices the unclear edges of the image. A smile erupts on his lips and he pulls it off, yet another unfamiliar type of flower welcoming his droopy eyes.

‘ _Jonquils, desire. Come inside for a pleasant surprise, Viktor. I know you’ve been waiting for this for a really long time, and I’m ready now. Lock the door when you close it._ ’

Wasting no time at all, he pushes open the door, closing it with a creak and locking it again. It’s when he meets gazes with Yuuri that he decides that he’s seen the most beautiful sight to ever be bestowed upon any man—Yuuri, undone, on his bed, sweating profusely, lips agape, and no shirts on.

“Holy shit,” Viktor mutters to himself as he leaves the cup of coffee unattended on a table and drops his messenger bag down onto the floor. He jogs towards Yuuri, feeling his member pulsate at how innocently sensual Yuuri appears right now.

“You should s-see what’s underneath the blankets, Viktor,” He whispers, a small grin setting on his lips. Gulping, Viktor moves to take the sheets off of his body only for his cheeks to be flushed at the sight.

He’s already two fingers in, his length leaking transparent, sticky liquid onto his smooth navel. Viktor hears a giggle from the other male, inviting and arousing yet so, so pure at the same time. Oddly, it turns Viktor on even more, this spotless front his putting up.

“How long have you been here, baby?” Viktor’s surprised he can even form coherent sentences right now, seeing as how flustered he is at the moment. With a hint of hesitance, he grabs one of his nipples with his thumb and index finger, flicking and pinching it to gain some form of reaction from the other male.

“H-half an hour, at least,” Yuuri mumbles, whimpering at the unexpected contact. The sound sends a shiver soaring slowly throughout Viktor’s body, deciding to focus on the other nipple for now.

Viktor, growing impatient and unable to control himself, stands up and undresses, smirking at the reaction he elicits from the male. In less than a second, they become one Obra Maestra, a storm of passion, an ocean of all the shades, colors, and hues perceived by the human eyes.

Individually, they are beautiful, but nothing could compare to how they appear when together, a haze of love and lust and everything in between. They’re a canvas, like the rich, blue sky, only they paint themselves with white and red, creating art with otherworldly gorgeousness.

“I love you,” Viktor whispers.

“I love you, too,” Yuuri mutters back, a moan threatening to leave his lips.

 

**5\. a field of yellow daffodils.**

"You know, you’ve never told me why you never give me actual flowers but just their pictures,” Viktor muses out loud after being handed another picture, this time of a sea of yellow daffodils against an ocean of cotton clouds.

_Daffodils – you’re the only one; the sun is always out when I’m with you. You’re my happiness, Viktor, the promise of a rainbow after a dark, ravaging storm. I love you. Please never, ever change, even if the current goes against you and the tides take too long to ebb.’_

“Ever the romantic,” Viktor mutters to himself, pocketing the picture and giving Yuuri a peck on his cheek, leaving in his lips’ wake a pinkish hue.

“I’m allergic to flowers,” Yuuri mumbles.

Viktor gasps.

 

**6\. a pot of orange blossoms beside a slightly ajar door.**

Yuuri is sitting on the couch, silent and shaky and shivering, although it’s not really that frigid inside. The heater is running, setting the perfect temperature around the apartment. No matter how warm it is, though, Yuuri’s palms are clammy and there’s a velvet box sitting uncomfortably in the pockets of his too tight jeans.

Viktor arrives not long after from a swift trip to the grocery, carrying a brown paper bag on his arm as he kicks the door close. He flashes Yuuri a warm smile, how he usually greets him, and even though he’s seen it so many times, it still manages to send a blush to his cheeks.

“I have something to ask you,” Yuuri blurts out all of a sudden, and Viktor, setting the bag down on the table, turns around with a grin and raises an eyebrow at Yuuri. “Come over here,” He mumbles, sitting up to a proper position and taking out the folded picture and the small box with curved edges.

“What is it?” Viktor asks, sitting down beside him.

Wordlessly, he hands Victor the picture, ruined at the corners but what matters is the note behind is still legible. Orange blossoms, Viktor identifies, and as soon as the name pops up into his mind, his breathing becomes erratic and his heartbeat grows in speed. Turning the picture around, he sees three words written messily in purple ink.

_Marry me, Viktor?’_

Viktor sheds a tear, kissing Yuuri with every ounce of love and passion he has in his body.

 

**7\. a group of stephanotises sticking out from lush leaves.**

“Dad, he’s bullying me again!” Their daughter exclaims, a huff escaping her chapped lips as she lands a punch on his brother’s chest. It’s hard and direct and painful, as soon concluded by Viktor and Yuuri when they hear the boy wail in pain, tears meandering out of his eyes like rivers, leaving transparent trails on his pale skin.

“Goddamn it,” The two men mutter at the same time, walking over to the scene and separating the two children from each other, each male doing their best to cheer up the kid on their respective laps.

Their gazes meet amid the domestic chaos.

They smile.

(Viktor finds a picture of stephanotises in their shared bed later that night, the note reading, _No matter how chaotic our lives are parents are, I will never ever change it for the world. It’s worth much more than everything combined, and I’m glad I’m living this life with you, Viktor_. Needless to say, a silent tear was shed that night.)

 

**8\. purple hyacinths tucked in a pocket of a shirt.**

Yuuri slides a picture of purple hyacinths underneath Viktor’s pillow, just enough for it to stay there despite a breeze blowing by, and for it to be seen by Viktor when he wakes up.

When Viktor wakes up, his hair is disheveled and there are purple bags underneath his eyes, rubbing them with his index finger as he blindly searches for another body beside him, only to pat empty space.

Standing up, he sees a picture tucked underneath his pillow, and with a lazy grin, he lifts it upward close enough for him to be able to read it clearly.

‘ _Sorry, baby, had to leave early to send the kids to school and go to work. It’s your day off today, don’t worry. I made you some breakfast, too, just put them in the microwave if you want. Love you.’_

Viktor smiles and goes back to sleep.

 

**9\. a stem of lily of the valley.**

It’s their 20th wedding anniversary, and their celebration has just ended. They’re in their room, heaving messes with smirks on their lips. Viktor’s arm is wrapped around Yuuri’s waist as his other arm is under the latter’s head. He’s leaning his forehead against the other, cheeks flushed and hair tousled.

“Have a picture for me?” Viktor teases, letting his hand roam up and down the other’s smooth, smooth skin that he will never get tired of traveling and loving.

Nodding, Yuuri turns around and reaches out to the table, pulling the drawer open to fish out a newly developed picture and hands it over to Viktor.

‘ _Lily of the valley – it’s the flower of eternal love. I hope you know you have my heart with yours even after you breathe your last breath. And I hope I have yours way into the afterlife. This lifetime is barely enough and I seriously won’t mind spending thousands more with you.’_

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

 

**10\. sweet peas in a transparent vase.**

Yuuri sheds a single tear as he brings over the vase of pink sweet pea flowers to the front, holding it with two hands steadily despite how unstable his knees are right now.

He tries to smile, he really does.

He sets it down right underneath the coffin, wiping the trail of his tears with the sleeve of his button-down.

“I told you I’d bring you an actual bouquet one day.”

**Author's Note:**

> HELLOE! been a long time since i last wrote a fanfic, so sorry if it's kind of rusty and shit. i love receiving constructive criticism, so don't hesitate to shoot some at me! :D


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